


Abad Min

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sticksandsnark, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-15
Updated: 2009-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no ceremony on Athos for boy or girl; no elaborate four-day feast as there was among the Davin; no rite of contemplation comparable to the reverie the Eshna sought. Adulthood arrived with subtlety, the product of ordinary conversation, the gradual certainty of skill upon the hunt, an unannounced gift of understanding when listening to elder-stories a dozen times told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abad Min

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perspi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perspi/gifts).



There was no ceremony on Athos for boy or girl; no elaborate four-day feast as there was among the Davin; no rite of contemplation comparable to the reverie the Eshna sought. Adulthood arrived with subtlety, the product of ordinary conversation, the gradual certainty of skill upon the hunt, an unannounced gift of understanding when listening to elder-stories a dozen times told.

"Choose carefully," said Teyla's mother one morning, words offered casually as she tilted Teyla's hands, demonstrated the better way to sharpen a knife. "Each partner will have their gift – body, mind, spirit, action."

Teyla flushed as she thought of Damaan Hangred, whose shoulders had broadened of late, his body growing firm as he shed the carefree form of her childhood playmate. He had found his way into her dreams, and her heart ran fast in her chest when he bid her good morning. If her mother had read her mind . . .

"There is no shame in indulgence," said Tagaan, smoothing Teyla's blade against the wet stone. "You may wish to find out the art of your body – to learn its secrets as you have begun to explore your mind."

Teyla shifted slightly on her stool and focused with determination on the edge of her second-best hunting knife. Her cheeks would cool; she would will it so. She would not think of Damaan's hands, nor nurture the hum of pleasure that accompanied such thoughts, especially not while her mother sat beside her.

"But choose carefully, min-Emmagan," Tagaan offered. "There is distinction to be made between this moment and those yet to come. Life is easier with another, if you speak your choice with a more constant voice than that of your body."

"I am not a child," said Teyla said tightly, more confused than she wanted to admit. "I have no intention of choosing a life partner before I can lead the hunt myself."

"Indeed," Tagaan replied, smiling kindly. "That is wise."

"And I have too much to do to . . . " She cleared her throat. "There is – I will not. I mean to say – "

Tagaan laid a hand on her daughter's arm. " _Abad_ , min. All is well."

Teyla closed her eyes and pushed out a breath. "Yes," she whispered, opening her eyes to tentatively share her mother's smile.

*****

Damaan was her third, after Heden, who had spilled upon himself when he first touched her breast, and Amina, whose similar body had been a revelation. She did not ask Damaan how many others he had known – he had the patience Heden had lacked, but benefited greatly from the knowledge Amina had whispered across Teyla's body. He was the first to push inside her with more than fingers, to freeze and blurt "I'm sorry, oh god, Teyla?" as she tensed, but she held him close, encouraged him to move until the pain subsided and she could once again sink into the pleasure of another's warmth, a body against her own.

It was not until Edaas, her fifth, that she learned it was not necessary for things to end abruptly, that there could be conversation, and lazy touch into the night. She passed that knowledge to others, and grew confident in expecting as much. Lemitt brought her books, and she loaned him others – there were nights where their kisses became derailed by argument, by honest curiosity, and evenings when precious pages were creased and books tossed aside. Then Ang'laan – not merely gifted with an artist's grace and full, dark lips, but with the lightest forest-step that Teyla had witnessed in her life. They were hunting partners long after their kisses had stilled, entrusted each other with tales of new _amrini_ , laughed until their sides hurt and their elders bid them quiet.

But it was Hashal who taught her a dozen tales about the stars, who wove a canopy of belonging above them both with gestures and words. In the heavens she found reassurance, her ancestors and those of other worlds standing side by side, their energies turned into a light that transcended distance, history and possibility made companion by the night.

She came of age through each of them, a process begun, completed, and artlessly begun again.

*****

Atlantis became her home amid disruption, a break with the rhythms of the world she knew. There were no forests amid the city, no bird song, no breeze to dance around bodies intent on everyday tasks. There was purpose to be had, for sure, but it was a thread of new-spun meaning, wound between glass spires and foreign peoples, their words translated by the gate, phrases still heavy with the inflection of a strange parent tongue. Candles and blankets and clothes from home could mute the sharp edge of Atlantis' beauty, but Teyla quickly understood that she must surrender expectation if she were to find belonging, become a journeywoman, a traveler between cultures, an unmarried woman whose purpose was to serve. She would be venerated; she would use the wisdom of books and stars and knives; she would become a leader and guide others toward a common goal. But her body would lie dormant as anything but weapon. Damaan and Hashal no longer visited in dreams.

Such was the pact she made, a silent promise to herself and her people, a sacrifice she willingly undertook – there was comfort in the plain-spun duty of it, in the ache of holding herself apart.

Yet life was not so predictable as to allow her a martyrdom. She laughed, often, at Aiden's jokes; she felt pleasure in the arc of her body as she lifted her bantos rods and swept John's knees out from beneath him. She mourned those taken by the Wraith; she welcomed Ronon with a Pegasan's understanding; she found companionship – and new books to read – in Elizabeth's quarters over sweet, chilled wine.

And she found the stars again, beneath Rodney's impatient finger, jabbing at computer displays and irritably telling her what she wanted to know. She hunted still – Wraith now, not Tikit beasts – and Rodney could never be said to possess a forest's foot-fall, but he doggedly stayed with her, never hesitated to shoot his gun, even if his early aim strayed wide. His wit matched hers again and again, his knowledge spilling restlessly over agile lips, and she sparred with him – words instead of bantos rods – challenged his suppositions about a universe ruled by numbers, prodded and poked him into red-faced, hand-waving seminars on the eleventh dimension of space. That she smiled at him was apparently a puzzle; that she came to his bedside when he was injured made him frown even as he clasped her hand.

She chose carefully, chose Rodney, chose when she had imagined there was no choice left to make. There was distinction between this adult knowing and the choice of an adulthood barely begun; distinction between the fumbling touch of Haden's hand and the certainly found within Rodney's arms.

"I'm always busy, I have too much to do to . . . " he said, touching her face as they lay beside one another, bodies damp, newly bared. "There isn't – I won't always be able to . . . I mean – "

Teyla laid a hand on Rodney's arm. " _Abad_ , min," she whispered, fondly. "All is well."


End file.
